Possibilities
by LordGinger
Summary: The world that everyone lives in is just one outcome among countless IFs, and will continue to overflow with infinite IFs. A collection of stories between Mukuro Ikusaba and Makoto Naegi.
1. You Can't Hold a Trial with Two People

Possibilities - A Danganronpa Fanfiction

What IF 1 – You Can't Hold a Trial with Only Two People

The academy's halls were only dimly lit as he made his way through at the speed of fear. It was the only good fortune the remaining students had left that the cafeteria was so close to their bedrooms, as a longer distance would have surely driven any of the remaining survivors into shock before they could make it half way. Makoto himself wouldn't have stepped out if not for his desperate need for a drink, as he wasn't quite up to consuming toilet or shower water just yet. He moved at an odd pace, quickly but nervously, each step little more than a shuffle forward as he tried to make out shadows in the darkness. Not that it would matter if he did. The killer would likely take his life before the scream reached his throat, and even if he succeeded in his attempt, it would be useless in the face of the soundproofed walls of the bedrooms. Crossing the dormitory's main plaza would have only taken mere seconds in times of Hope, but his paranoia stretched it out to ten minutes before he was within the confines of the cafeteria. The doors were hurriedly slammed shut behind him and a chair wedged firmly into the door handles to prevent any other students from following him inside.

"Good evening Makoto."

The scream was instantaneous and long, a terrible, scratchy thing born from the truest fear as he collapsed with arms about his head, praying that his death would be as quick and painless as possible. But it was not to be as a softer hand fell upon his, a second on his shoulder to stabilise him. They prevented him from flailing in panicked defiance, and when he found the courage to look upon his assailant he found a different killer holding him.

"Mu-Mukuro?"

The Ultimate Soldier nodded, and the sight of her loosened the grip of fear from Makoto's chest as she helped him to his feet, dusting him down as she went. There were two killers inside the walls of Hope's Peak, but he knew that this one would never harm him. A soldier protected people, after all. If nothing else, if she were to kill him it would be two years' worth of work straight down the drain. A small, manic giggle escaped him as Mukuro brought him over to the table where fifteen lights of Hope had sat. Now it was covered in papers relating to how each one had been extinguished.

Sakura had been the first to go, found dead in this very room. A bad batch of protein powder containing some nasty chemical had done what no man could and bested The World's Strongest Woman. The elder Kirigiri had ruled it an accident and taken the blame wholeheartedly upon himself, ruling her death a mistake he would pay for when the world returned to some form of normality. Given the stress of his self-appointed position and the weight of the world's future on his shoulders, it seemed that losing even one spark of Hope had been enough to drive him to Despair. They'd found him and Kyoko in his office the next day, the first and only meal they'd taken together there laced with cyanide pills. Things had fallen apart from there as the remaining thirteen students had been left to self-govern themselves in the midst of both the personal tragedy and the one that raged outside. Between the loss of two close friends and the sole authority figure in the school, tempers had frayed and burst as Byakuya and Kiyotaka jostled to take the reins. Makoto had done his best to calm matters, but the edition of Toko and Mondo on each "side" had drowned him out in a wave of screaming, swearing and tears. That matter had been solved shortly afterwards by a midnight crucifixion, Byakuya's broken body mutilated by a thousand scissor cuts. Only then had it become apparent that one of the group wasn't what they appeared to be, that one of the lights sealed within Hope's Peak had blackened and become a member of Despair. Mondo had fallen under fire as the culprit, defended only by Chihiro and Kiyotaka. The investigation had turned up even darker than they had expected, with the security cameras showing Byakuya's murderer as a masked demon in a trench coat, breaking into his room with the slightest of ease.

Camps had formed after that, students teaming up in groups of two and three to watch the night and each other. It wasn't enough, as one week later Celestia's bedroom also became a slaughterhouse, with her and Hifumi sliced up so finely that it was impossible to tell which pile of viscera had previously been which friend. And from there the remaining students had torn each other to pieces as well. Sayaka suffered a head wound died trying to flee, falling on it poorly when Leon knocked her down to reclaim the escape button. According to the survivors, this was enough to brand him as the killer, and Mondo's fury ended him without trial. The act of vigilantism brought them another week of strained peace before Aoi turned up drowned in the swimming pool. Mondo had been so wracked with guilt that it was obvious he would be the next to go, paying for life with life at the end of a rope. The current system had surfaced from then on, every student for themselves with the dead clutching at their backs every time they turned around. Even paranoia wasn't enough to save the others, and now only three were left alive, the two in the cafeteria and Toko, who had sealed herself within her quarters a week prior and refused to answer the door. She could be dead for all Makoto knew, depending on how long she could hold out against her body's needs. Not that it mattered now. It was clear that the killer had wasn't one of the students, had never been. Despair had wormed itself into the walls and was coming for them, and time was its essence. All it had to do was wait for one of the three to slip up and it would take its due.

A pair of steaming cups was placed on the table, breaking Makoto from his thoughts. Mukuro had made tea for him, the drink of choice for calming shattered nerves. Two sugars, too much milk, just how he liked it. For someone who claimed to be an emotionless mercenary she remembered a lot of little personal things like that. Then again it would have been impossible for her not to, seeing as she almost been a second shadow during his time at Hope's Peak, forever saving him from falling down the stairs once a day or from yakuza come to claim his organs in the name of Yasuhiro's debts. But even the Ultimate Soldier had limits, and despite her best attempts and patrols the killer continued to slip past her. Suddenly, as if sensing his thoughts, Mukuro stood up, an odd expression on her face as she went over her findings once more. Not quite worry, but as close as a human without fear could get.

"I know who the killer is."

* * *

Everything happened so fast after that, as Makoto was left to dangle in the wake of Mukuro's drive, hanging on despite his powerlessness and her gentle plea to stay behind. He had to see things though to the end. The shotgun retrieval, the twin blasts that allowed them entrance to the killer's lair, the flash of light that shook his vision and robbed the killer of hers, and Mukuro's effortless binding as she brought her to justice. By the point time had caught up to him Toko Fukawa was bound and Mukuro was listing off each of her crimes one by one, ignoring her pleas for mercy.

"You knew, of course, that the back room of the library contains a wealth of information on things the public at large is not meant to know. Including all the public and private records pertaining to Genocider Syo, the serial killer who serves as your second identity. A persona that serves Ultimate Despair."

A second identity? It seemed a stretch, but how else to explain that the perpetually weak and nervous Toko would slaughter her friends? It raised the question of how a shut-in had been able to pull the wool over their eyes for so long, but those that dealt in Despair often abandoned common sense.

"Wait, how can that be true? I thought Genocider Syo always wrote a certain phrase when they committed a murder."

Makoto wasn't the kind of person who could get invested in the acts of serial killers, but he had gleaned a great deal on the subject from whenever Byakuya would decide that he was worthy of being talked at.

"That is true. Blood Bath Fever, usually done in the victim's blood. However, this is only true for murders claimed in her name, and her targets within the academy could only be dedicated to Despair. With one exception. Byakuya Togami was murdered by laceration and displayed as a crucifix with scissors to hold him still. Makoto, your reasoning was partially correct, but not wholly. Genosider Syo has a second calling card."

Mukuro reached into a breast pocket on the flak jacket she had worn to the encounter and retrieved a series of photographs, each one depicting a young man slain in the same style as Byakuya. As Makoto shuffled through them, she knelt down and tore Toko's skirt, revealing a silver pair of scissors strapped to the tally-marked leg, identical to the murder weapons holding the young men up. It was all the evidence she needed.

"You removed one of the only students that could overpower you by poisoning her, but overlooked me as I was forbidden to use my arsenal by the late headmaster, so that a school environment could be maintained during this crisis. Jin Kirigiri was willing to blame himself, but we all knew that Kyoko remained suspicious. You somehow obtained cyanide pills from a member of Ultimate Despair on the outside, or had them on your person when the school was sealed. Either way, with both detectives deceased there was no-one else to follow the events that followed with logic, nor to handle the clashing personalities of the Ultimate Students. With this achieved you murdered a young man you were attracted to, as befitting of your M.O. After that you were free to murder as you pleased, and created an atmosphere of fear that manipulated the survivors into splitting apart, making them easier prey when you came to silence them. Toko Fuwaka, I find you guilty of fourteen counts of murder. Would you prefer execution by blade or bullet?"

The monologue had to have been the most Mukuro articulated herself, and yet her voice never rose and no emotion showed on her face as she passed judgement, her calm demeanour as terrifying as it was comforting. By comparison, Toko was screaming at him now, begging and pleading that she'd done everything she could, that she'd never blacked out, and anyway, shouldn't there be a fresh tally mark on her leg, so how could she have killed Byakuya? Her ranting was drowned out by a gunshot, the final word on the matter. Makoto should have cared, even a little. But he'd seen each of his friends die in turn, with more than one promised as the end of the killing. Losing another one did nothing to ease the never-ending fatigue that swamped his bones, the tight grip in his heart. Even now he felt like a rabbit trapped in the jaws of a wolf, resigned to waiting for it to bite down and put him out of his misery. Something soft took his hand, and when he looked up it was into pale grey eyes, Mukuro's emotionless shell peeling away in the face of her sole friend.

"I'm sorry. That you had to see that."

He couldn't have cared less at this point, and let her led him out, away from the body. Only within the relative security of his living quarters did a spark of will come back to him, pulling him to his bed where he could crash out, shut down and pretend that he'd never left in the first place. But he had, and now Toko joined the ranks of those claimed by Despair. And now Mukuro hung awkwardly in his room, still as unaccustomed to social situations now as when they'd first met, a condition not helped by the end of the world. He shifted as far over as he could, patting the duvet to let her know it was fine to lie with him. She did so, leaving the tools of her trade by the door but going stiff as a board the second they were together again. Some small part of his mind pointed out that teenagers of opposite genders didn't share beds for a reason. He didn't care; such things were as far out his mind as they could be. He just stared into the darkness of the ceiling, letting the lightless abyss stare back into him. Mukuro spoke first, her quiet voice so much smaller in the dark.

"I'll try and fix the power tomorrow. The emergency generator isn't very good."

They'd repaired the main generator three times now, and three times it had shut out. Toko must have done that, to heighten the Despair of their situation. It had certainly worked, given how paralysed he'd been just walking to the cafeteria. Makoto made a noise that might have been confirmation. The bed shifted beside him, nervous arms pulling him into an embrace that he couldn't be bothered to resist. Mukuro's voice was above him now, his head buried in her chest as she cradled him.

"We're going to survive Makoto. We're going to live. Just you and I, Like Adam and Eve, until Despair burns itself out. I'll protect you, I promise."

Maybe it was the first close human contact he'd had in weeks. Maybe it was just because they'd reached the end of the murders one way or another. Maybe it was because it was Mukuro here with him, the soft yet unbreakable girl doing her best to hold him together when all he wanted to was give up. Whatever it was, it broke the unfeeling barrier he'd placed on his heart since Sayaka had died so pointlessly, and he cried endlessly into the night.

* * *

"Everything's been going quite well recently, you'll be happy to know. The Future Foundation called, and I pretended that the headmaster was disposed at the time, and that we were all happy and well. It's not really a lie, I suppose. Is it a lie? I'm happy, and Makoto is… getting there. What do you think?"

Junko Enoshima didn't reply. She didn't even open her eyes, as they'd been closed a while now. But she was still as pretty as the day Mukuro had laid her to rest, a month in cold storage preserving her beauty as if she'd just been shot. But it was necessary. She wouldn't change the plan, even when it became apparent that Makoto had a high chance of dying in the Mutual Killing Game, with Mukuro looking out for him or without. So she had to be disposed of. It had been a long time since Mukuro had felt anything towards a kill, and the uncertain Despair that had taken her had almost convinced her to join her sister in eternal sleep. She'd even cried, which had surprised her most of all, having thought herself long done with tears. But it was necessary. To keep him safe. The other had to go for the same reasons. Junko had said that a closed circle of people would always turn on one another, provocation or not. So she had killed the warrior and the detectives who might have stopped her. She'd killed the heir who read all about murderers and had no qualms about committing the deed. She'd killed the gambler who could murder and muddle the truth about the act, and her thrall so he wouldn't try to avenge her. The idol and the sportsman didn't have the will to stay calm under pressure, but they killed each other before she could. She killed the swimmer so that the biker would fall and take the rest with him, and had picked them off before they could think about escaping for real. The author was the last, and now that her scapegoat was dead she had a perfect world. Just her and Makoto. The Ultimate Soldier with Ultimate Luck at her side, an undefeatable pair. She would protect him and he would smile at her, and one day they would fall in love and start creating so much Hope to offset the Despair in her heart. She hoped the children would inherit his eyes, the ones she could stare into forever and feel her heart kick as though he was giving her that smile for the first time…

"I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I dear sister? We need to fix everything first. I suppose I should get going so that we can work the garden together. He'll like that, I think. Maybe… I'll just have to learn along the way. I've got all the time in the world now, thanks to you."

She leant down, pressed her lips to Junko's forehead.

"I love you Junko."

There was no confirmation of the fact. There never would be, only the cold click of metal as her younger sister returned to her "grave", now joined by Toko three slots over. That was Junko's way of handling love. And now Mukuro had her way, a long, considered path with no outside interference. Just her and Makoto on a mission of love and life and Hope.

 _"If everyone except you and Makoto dies, you'll be able to spend the rest of your school life together." –_ Monokuma, Danganronpa IF


	2. Lady in Black

Possibilities

AN: I swear this was a good story before I got tired of trying to finish it.

What IF 2 – Lady in Black

Oi, Komaru. You done watching that show yet? There's a documentary about Hope's Peak I want to catch."

"Five more minutes bro, I'm just waiting for- ah, there she is!"

The runway on the television was dimmed to near pitch, the only colour the harshly contrasting white of the backdrop, broken up only by more dark shapes that made up a winter's forest for the newest model's entrance as she stepped out from under the broken branches. Spotlights followed her as she made slow and steady progression down the catwalk, the light gently accentuating her form in the figure-hugging dress that trailed out behind her. The girl continued the theme of white and black combating yet enhancing the best of one another, with black lips and eyelids on an expression so stoic and flawless she was indistinguishable from a china doll, crafted just for the awed audience's desires. The crawler bearing her name showed similar reverence, announcing her as Mukuro "Black Ice" Ikusaba as Komaru sat in open-mouthed worship.

"So beautiful!"

There was no denying that, otherwise she wouldn't have been a model in the first place. But there was something about the way she looked out over the crowd with that listless, empty gaze that was just off-putting to Makoto. The poor girl looked so sad it almost made him want to cry for her. But it wasn't like he was any great expert on fashion, or anything else really, and so he simply snatched up the remote as she left the stage.

* * *

Mukuro was always pleased when work was finished. Whether it was a catalogue shoot or a runway display, from beginning to end she was always a mile away, waiting for the final lightbulb flash. Admittedly, today's shoot had been slightly more durable due to her team-up with a tamed wolf, a surprisingly friendly member of the species. She'd got to sit down alongside and pet it too, the sensation of fur beneath her unsuitably thin gloves more than making up for the fact that she was stuck filming on a winter set again. Always winter sets, and never Christmas ones but isolated lakes and stripped-down forests, especially designed to invoke the barrier between her and the world. She'd been a young girl when the title of "Black Ice" had been attached to her, and now it was all that defined her career, thanks to her younger self's inability to speak up against it. Black Ice. Cold, dangerous and prone to catch you off-guard if you didn't devote your full attention to it. A perfect image for a pale beauty that never smiled.

The company car slowed to a crawl, bringing her outside to the block of apartments where she resided. She exchanged a quiet word of thanks to her driver, same as she did after every trip out, and made her way up the silent stairs relieved to be shot of yet another pair of unforgiving heels for the rest of the day. That relief lasted all the way until she made it to the door of her home and found the door unlocked. No, not unlocked. Busted open, the lock buckled and splintered by what must have been a rather hefty blow. Mukuro sighed as she reached into her handbag to arm herself with pepper spray. She had very little in the way of valuable possessions, and even if it was a thief she was happy for them to steal away with some of the more expensive, yet never worn outfits that had been dumped on her by various companies over the years in lieu of worthwhile payment. It was more likely to be another errant fan that had fallen in love with the girl on magazine pages. This was the second one this month, she'd thought that even the more determined fanatics had been deterred after she'd nailed last unwanted piece of company with a taser. She sighed, pushed the door open and made to get it over with. As it turned out, someone had beaten her to the punch.

"So hey, you wanna know how I got these scars? This one's from Budapest. Turns out grenades make pretty piss-poor substitutes for footballs, go figure, huh? This one's from Australia, where I fought twelve dudes in a knife fight until the sun came up. You ever fight twelve dudes for six hours? You learn things about your body you kinda wish you could avoid learning. What I'm saying here is, you can struggle all you want, but I'm like a third of your weight but ten times your strength, so you're staying pinned under my thighs for a good while Sonny-Jim. But hey, look at the bright side, for once you get to be up close and personal with a girl that's not printed on a love pillow! Now, where was I? Oh yeah, these…"

There were two people in a living room that usually only saw one, both entwined with one another in what was almost an intimate postion if you ignored the desperate escape attempts of the one pinned to the floor by nothing more than a teenaged girl. The one on the bottom was a stranger, the one straddling his bulky chest and running her mouth nine to the dozen a girl Mukuro hadn't seen in a while. Both turned to look at her with differing levels of elation. The man, presumably because he thought he was saved, the girl for another reason as she pulled her shirt back down and bounced up to greet her sister.

"Hey, there's my big sis! Still as drab and gloomy as ever, huh? Sorry for breaking your door, I lost my key punching out a Modern Major General. Don't ask. In other news, this guy came in and started yelling at me. I would have murdered him, but it's a pain in the ass to get blood out of cream carpets. Why do you even own cream carpets, it's the colour choice of masochists, just begging to get stepped on and ruined with dirt."

Without giving Mukuro a second to reply, Junko had already wound her long red hair into a ponytail, fixed a pair of glasses to her face and was carrying on, albeit in a calmer, more controlled tone.

"Unless of course, my dear yet utterly regrettable sister is hiding secrets from me? I suppose that is to be expected, considering your social status as a model. But I must say, such deviant behaviour is most unlike you, considering even a minor fetish would lead you one step along to path to forming an actual personality."

"Hello to you too Junko. How was Brazil?"

Junko just sighed at the downplaying of her antics and went back to her captive. To look at the pair, one would have second-guessed their nature as twins. While Junko had kept their natural hair colour and grown it out, Mukuro kept hers cut short and dyed it black to the roots, one of the few stylistic choices forced on her over the years that she'd taken to. And while her pale complexion added greatly to her image it was nothing compared to the story Junko's marked and tanned skin told, the veteran marks of a hundred battles in her time at Fenrir. They'd maintained more or less the same face though, even if Junko had picked up a couple of freckles from her time in warmer climates. The personality switching was a new trait, but Mukuro chalked it up to her sister's unique outlook on the world and followed her to the floor, kneeling beside the portly man that had been overwhelmed by the child soldier.

"Hello Mr Kamogawa. My apologies for my sister."

"Mukuro, I know you'll take shit like the first class toilet you are, but you don't need to be nice to the nerds outside of work, you know?"

"Junko, Mr Kamogawa is my manager. And the deed owner of this apartment."

"Well, that explains why he wouldn't shut up about the door." Junko conceded as Mukuro helped him up from the floor, an attempt that took two tries as she was unable to hoist him up without assistance from the one who had knocked him over in the first place. Once on his feet, a fat hand found a well-used handkerchief to mop his brow, Junko taking the chance to flounce off and raid Mukuro's kitchen for snacks. Kamogawa grunted discontentedly as she went, the act setting his jowls in motion.

"Despicable girl. She'd be better off in prison than in the army. Thank god I got the well-mannered sibling. What is she even doing here? I thought that last tour of hers was supposed be a three-year affair."

"Yeah, funny story. All my comrades died, so I'm the last surviving member of Fenrir. I was gonna go avenge their deaths and all, but then some sort of bullshit peace treaty got called, so here I am back home in glorious Japan."

Junko was nothing if resourceful, devouring a tub of peanut butter that Mukuro didn't even know she had as she made her way back in.

"But just when I'm worrying about if my talents were gonna go to waste, what should drop in my lap but this?"

She pulled out two white envelopes from nowhere, Kamogawa's face turning a whiter shade of pale at the sight for some reason.

"You've got one too sis. The geezers that run Hope's Peak finally got some taste and sent out the call for us."

Mukuro was unaccustomed to large displays of emotion, but even she couldn't help but go wide-eyed as she read through her invitation letter. To say that Hope's Peak was prestigious was an understatement. It was a high school for the elite of the elite where only pure talent or exuberant payments could get one in. More to the point, it was a high school that had invited her. Mukuro hadn't been to school in years, all of her learning handed down by various tutors assigned by the company. Next to her, Kawogawa wrung his hands nervously.

"Mukuro my dear, you can't possibly think about taking this offer. Between school work and your career you'd be worn to the bone. More to the point, a high school is no place for such a beauty as you, what with all those teenaged perverts running about in hormonal frenzies. It's hard enough for us to protect you after shows, but without us around anything could happen! I must advise you to decline post-haste."

"What the hell old man, you trying to lock my sister in a cage or something?"

"I am simply saying…"

The argument faded into white noise all around Mukuro as she found a chair and read through the letter again. An uncertain weight had lodged itself in her chest, and Kamogawa's protests had set a spark of fear to it. That spark caught and burst in no time, and soon her mind was ablaze with questions. Would she really be able to adapt to school life after so long on the tour circuit? How would she cope with hundreds of new people all about her when her press and fan events were presided over by no less than three bodyguards?

Her worries were suddenly shunted aside as Junko leapt into her lap with a heavy thump, collecting her winded sister up in like a spider setting to work. Her expression was overly cutesy to the point of being venomous now, as she spat more insults at Kamogawa. Mukuro couldn't help but be thankful even as she tried to regain her composure. Junko's forcible intrusion had given her the only reason she needed to go to Hope's Peak: because Junko was going and Mukuro would follow her anywhere. And so she turned the porcelain face that the world had gifted her with to Kamogawa, and apologised for the inconvenience, turning him down like so many other fans.

* * *

She'd known that her decision would have consequences, but she hadn't been expecting everything to go wrong on the first day. Of course, that was mostly thanks to an extensive list of morning chores that had been thrust upon her by the company. She'd spent an hour painting her face and needed to redo her lipstick twice because she'd forgotten to eat breakfast first. Choosing a dress had been equally painful considering that all of her clothes were simply too fancy or complex for everyday use. She'd managed to dig up a pencil dress in the end, which her driver had consented to more out of necessity of time than because he thought it proper representation for the brand. And after all that traffic had bitten them hard, resulting in the twins having to forego the car in favour of running so that they could make it for their first day on a semblance of being on time. They'd pushed into the building with two minutes to spare, only making it to the main hall for induction thanks to Junko shaking down a random upperclassman for directions. The sole mercy of the morning was that they were shuffled into the seating at the back so that they didn't stand out too much. After that they'd been given their class arrangements, and were now waiting for their homeroom teacher to arrive so introductions could begin.

Mukuro wasn't sure what to make of her class. She knew Junko but the rest of the personalities seemed to be as strong as hers, and slightly stronger in the case of the straight-laced Moral Compass and the overbearing biker roaring at him. The others were sitting back and watching the shouting match unfold, with the expectation of Junko herself, fliting around like a social butterfly from student to student. She was clearly getting a heads-up on starting her new unit. Mukuro decided to keep herself to herself until it was time for formal introductions, if only to stay away from the chaos. Besides, she wasn't sure how to gauge the looks she was receiving from some of the students. The redhead with the piercings had yet to retrieve his jaw from where it had dropped upon her arrival.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden scrape of chair legs in front of her, and when she turned she found a new student pulling up in front of her. At least, she thought he was new, since she could have shown he hadn't been in the room before. He caught her looking at immediately smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, was anyone sitting here? I thought I'd grab a seat now."

"I believe that it's free. Go ahead."

"Thanks. Oh, I'm Makoto Naegi. Pleased to meet you."

"Mukuro. Likewise."

She wasn't sure what made her drop her family name, but thankfully Makoto was happy to overlook the social faux-pas, his smile only growing wider as he took his new seat. Not that she was complaining, as it was a very nice smile. Junko's were always tinged with madness and Kamogawa only ever smiled once a show or shoot was over. Seeing a smile for the sake of a smile for once was rather nice, even more so because he hadn't recognised her at all. Maybe she would have an easier time fitting in then she'd imagined. But any further introspective on smiles would have to wait as their teacher entered.

* * *

Things rather went from bad to worse after that. Her introduction was crippled from a lack of things to talk about describe herself, and it hadn't helped that the redhead- Leon, as he was called- had immediately begun to sing praises about her beauty, setting off a chain reaction as everyone took turns at playing "moon over the celebrity", a fate she'd shared with the idol in the class, Sayaka Maizono. Even her new neighbour had been shocked at the news, going very red in the face and crushing any hopes he would talk to her normally. The initial classes hadn't been much cop either, as she'd fallen behind from the offset in the rational subjects like maths and science and had been paralyzed in the face of more active classes of drama and P.E. Her class had turned out to be even more chaotic then she'd initially thought; a far cry from the silent and controlled photoshoots she was used to. And while she'd had Junko to hang around with during the day, her dear sister had run home the first chance she'd gotten, already bored of civilian life and determined to make the most of her free time. Which had left Mukuro to head down to the administrative offices alone in the hopes that she could sign up for a dormitory room. If she had to spend an hour each morning applying make-up to look proper for the company's purposes, having the rest of the school be a five-minute walk away was better than a fifteen-minute drive. It wasn't like she was particularly attached to her apartment anyway. But just as she was about to knock, she heard voices floating through the wood.

"I don't see why we should have to bend over to some conceited bastards anyway! It's not like the girl is any sort of spectacular asset to Hope's Peak. Her "Talent" is getting dressed up and gawked at by delusional nitwits and rancid prevents! I tell you something…"

Mukuro was already walking away, knowing exactly what would come next. Her contract had forbidden her from strenuous exercise on the grounds that sweating would ruin her image, a clause that the gym staff had been rather displeased with. Her fists tightened at her sides as she went about in no particular direction. It wasn't her fault things were like this. She never asked to be the Ultimate Fashionista. She never asked to be dressed up and gawked at. She never asked to be separated from people to the point she had to cling to her younger sister to make it through a day that had been completely alien to say the least.

Her feet took her to the first bathroom they could, and it wasn't long before she was peeling the pallor away with uncaring scrubbing. She was still pale underneath, but at least it was the pale of her own skin, not some artificial china lain over it. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep and mascara had clumped on the tips of her eyelashes, and in her opinion she'd never looked better. She stormed out filled with something akin to confidence, fully intent on going back and getting the forms looking like a human to prove the teacher wrong, only for it to be knocked out of her as she ran into someone not three steps out the door and went sprawling to the ground. The frantic apologies started before she could make a move to get up again, and she found herself looking up at the boy who had chosen to sit in front of her earlier.

"Ah, Miss Ikusaba! I'm so sorry; I wasn't looking where I was going."

"It's fine. Really."

She picked herself up, noticing as she did so that she wasn't the only one to have been scattered on the floor. Having made sure that she was alright Makoto had taken her place, kneeling down to gather up a bunch of stray papers that had been knocked this way and that when she'd run into him. It took her a second to realise that she should assist him, picking up the one that had fallen under her foot. She was about to hand it back to him when she caught the title, the page the first one out of the dormitory assignment pack that she had been planning to acquire. Her grip tightened as he bobbed back up, looking around for said sheet.

"You're applying for the dormitories?"

"Yeah, it'll be easier for my parents that way. Easier for me too, now I only have to get up at eight instead of six each morning. My sister's not too pleased with me, so I might not even have a room to come back to for the holidays. She said something about converting it into a swimming pool."

What was it about younger sisters that enticed them to be engines of destruction? Mukuro let the thought pass by, instead pinning down another one. But when she made to voice it, it got caught in her throat. She had never asked for anything before, as it normally led to receiving an impatient sigh or an outright refusal. But Makoto seemed nice, right?

"Naegi, could I ask a favour?"

"Oh course. It's the least I can do after bumping into you."

He smiled at her again, the simple act impacting awkwardly in her chest with a not unpleasant thudding sensation.

"I was… I was just hoping to collect one of these forms myself. Would you… be able to accompany me?"

"Of course I could. We can fill them in together, I can never get my head around small print."

"You can leave that to me… I've endured enough contract signings before."

"I'll leave myself in your capable hands then."

He smiled at her again, and this time the thudding went into overdrive, leaving her clutching at her chest as they made their way back. They were small steps, but each one made her feel better. Talking to someone who wasn't Junko or Kawogama, daring to ask a favour, moving to a home of her own. She might have been made up into a doll for the public, but she would take her humanity back, one small piece at a time.


	3. New Game Minus

Possibilities

What IF 3 – New Game Minus

Makoto Naegi wasn't sure how much more strangeness he could deal with. Being chosen to attend Hope's Peak Academy was one thing, being locked inside by a monochromatic bear was another, and now there was the new revelation sitting with the rest of the Ultimates in the dining hall. How long had he been unconscious again? Because at this point, he wouldn't have been surprised if Mondo had knocked him out for twenty years.

"Sakura and Aoi found her in the nurse's office." Sayaka explained. "But she hasn't said a word to us one way or the other."

If the new girl was bothered by Sayaka's off-hand referral method, she didn't voice it, instead gazing listlessly at Makoto with one steel-grey eye. The other was covered in bandages, as was the rest of her, a standard Hope's Peak uniform resting over the bindings in a parody of school life. What little skin could be seen around the eye and mouth justified the protection, inflamed and bruised in a terrible mix of red and purple. The standout was her right hand, for while it was as damaged as the rest of her, it carried yet another mystery – a wolf's head tattoo, said hand currently wrapped around a glass of water, each little sip causing her to wince and flinch as though struck every time she went to drink.

"Most likely because she's working for Monokuma."

For some reason, it wasn't a surprise to Makoto that Byakuya was suspicious of her. He didn't much seem the type to welcome strangers with open arms. The room ignored him, the other students having heard his complaints already.

"So yeah, that's what we've found. For the time being, we're… "

Sayaka would have concluded herself, but was distracted as the bandaged girl rose to her feet, taking shaky, uneven steps to the front of the room, stopping in front of Makoto. The scarred mouth worked emptily for a moment, before a rusted name choked out, her voice a smoky rasp.

"Ma…ko…to."

Even so little was the limit of her strength, and Makoto was left scrambling to catch her as her legs gave out, grabbing her in an awkward hug to lower her gently to the floor.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the one point of recognition was all it took for Makoto to be assigned as her caretaker, combined with the new suspicion that he too was working for Monokuma and that the two should be left kept together so that they could monitored if need be, thanks to Byakuya. But while the two of them were made semi-pariahs within the small group of former students, Sayaka continued to hang around as his assistant, which made up for things a little, and made helping Mukuro (that was the name on her student I.D., but with no talent to go along with it) with bathing and dressing much easier than it would have been otherwise. He probably would have died of a heart attack from being in the same bathroom as either one of them, and the last thing he needed was for Monokuma to have an excuse to do… whatever it was he had planned for anyone who followed through on his sadistic killing game. As for Mukuro herself, it was quickly revealed that she had no memories of anything other than her own name, and was unable to explain why she'd been attracted to Makoto that first day. Not that it stopped her from following him around like a well-trained dog, even waiting outside when he needed to visit the toilet. Or from sending Leon running to a different seat during the first breakfast assembly with little more than a glare, least he dare sit near Makoto when she could instead. If only she was as effective in scaring Monokuma away when he came to visit, taunting them with visions of videos. As it was, all she could do was cling to his arm as he was sent off to scout out the situation by Mondo, taking shaky but determined steps out of the canteen, Sayaka not far behind.

"Mukuro, you don't have to come with us if it's too much trouble for you. Things may be a bit tense at the moment, but Makoto and I will be just fine together."

A small shake of the head, brushing hair against hair.

"I need… to make myself… useful."

Her other arm was suddenly pulled up, Sayaka folding herself into Mukuro's side.

"All right then. Onwards and upwards!"

What little of Mukuro's face could be seen fell into a soft frown and she, and by extension Makoto, were dragged off in the general direction of the A/V Lab.

* * *

Mukuro didn't remember anything about herself. Even her name had been obtained from an outside source, leaving her only with the name she'd spoken on the first day. Makoto Naegi, the Ultimate Lucky Student, according to the files on her student I.D. As sole memories went, it was good enough for her. Unlike the others, Makoto didn't shy away from her or accuse her, and even if he wasn't forced to help her get around she suspected that he would do his best to help her anyway. Sayaka was nice as well, but Mukuro couldn't help disliking her, just a little. Every time she came over to help her dress or clean, it struck a spark in her chest, comparing that flawless porcelain skin to the raw red scar tissue of her own body, seeing how easily and cheerfully she could talk without speaking in a rasp that burned the back of her throat with each word. At least she'd done the proper thing and run off to collect the rest of the Ultimates, leaving her and Makoto with the box of disks. He withdrew two, holding out the one that bared her name.

"You know, if you want to, that is. Monokuma could have put anything on these."

But she did want to, unwinding some of the bandages about her ears to hear better as they put on headphones. The scene opened on the back of a lone faceless soldier, her short black hair pristine even in the midst of the desert. She moved from building to building, taking single shots with her rifle and landing true each time, a trail of dead men left in her wake. As she reached the last one, the picture began to break apart, waves of static interrupting only to cut away to a roaring bonfire, the same soldier screaming in pain as the flames ate away at her. The static cut in again, and now she was tied to a post, being hammered by thousands of baseballs. Mauled by sharks. Pounded by an excavator. Left out to freeze on a lonely street, her uniform naught but rags. As the camera slowly panned up, Monokuma's voice piped in.

"You're probably wondering how all this relates to you. If this girl is even you to begin with. Well, if you want your memories back, do your old pal Monokuma a big favour…"

The scene cut back to the battlefield, the soldier standing over a begging enemy. She cocked a pistol, aimed it at the man's head.

"And do what you do best."

The screen went black with a gunshot, and Mukuro was left staring, open-mouthed. She was left further shocked as Makoto's fist suddenly smashed the console next to her, his eyes wild and away from the room.

"I need to escape. I have to get out, right now! I need to make sure everyone's safe!"

"Mako…to."

Not thinking, she reached out and grabbed his hand and he bolted like a startled animal. A seed of displeasure took root in her, crushing her own confusion over her DVD. Makoto still had his memories, so whatever he'd been shown had to have been powerful indeed, to turn the passive, friendly boy so crazed. For the first time, she truly began to feel the same hatred towards Monokuma that the others had shared from the beginning. Misguided as her action was, it seemed to work a little, Makoto finding a small smile for her to try and calm them both.

"Oi, if you two need a moment, do it outside so we can see what the hell that bastard left for us."

The two jumped in surprise as Mondo elbowed in with the rest of the class, ready to watch their own personal despair.

* * *

They went to bed in various states of shock that night, and Mukuro was no exception, thankfully aided by Sakura in place of Sayaka, after the idol had panicked and fled the room. The girl in the video kept coming back every time she closed her eyes. Her face had been blurred but they looked the same size, and Monokuma had directly ordered her to kill as if it were natural to her. And if that was the case, then her burned and ruined body was from enduring some sort of terrible ordeal, one that had been so shocking that it had purged everything from her. Did that mean that she still had enemies waiting for her outside the academy walls? Or was she here because of said enemies? She sighed as hard as her damaged lungs would let her, and ended up having yet another coughing fit. Staggering over to the bathroom to hack up in the sink, she finished by wiping the debris with a loose bandage. New job done, it was unravelled into the bin, leaving her face to face with the charred girl in the mirror. The soldier girl had been completely unmarred other than a spree of freckles across her cheeks, but Mukuro could only be so lucky. Unbidden, Sayaka's face appeared out of the corner of her eye, and she slapped her palm against the mirror to crush it. She renewed her bandages quicker after that, keeping the thought out of her head. It wasn't fair to Sayaka, just because she was cute and girly and Mukuro… wasn't. It hadn't been her who'd put her on a pyre after all, and she wouldn't exchange the experience to anyone else. Just as she was about to try and sink into bitter sleep, there was a knock at the door. Mukuro didn't answer. Nightime rules were in full swing, including the one the students had made not to go out after it was announced. That aside, no-one talked to her aside from Makoto and Sayaka, the suspected allies of the mastermind. So for anyone to visit her at all put her on edge, especially with the knowledge that the rest of the students had received the same message as her: kill a classmate and we'll give you something you want. With no answer, all she could do was wait until there was a soft sound by the door, leaving a white something at the foot. It was a piece of notepad paper, the same as the one besides her own bed, folded in half with a message inside.

 _Mukuro_

 _Please come to my room, I need to talk to you about the video messages. Just us, alone. Don't worry about being in your pyjamas, I know it's hard for you to change. Oh, and check the nameplates to make sure you get the right room, okay? It'll be unlocked._

 _Makoto_

First thought: Makoto had incredibly girly handwriting. Second thought: why not talk to her in the morning? Third thought: Her, Makoto, alone, pyjamas. She shook the last one out and focused on the second. She'd only known Makoto for three days, but it only took three minutes to see that he was an incredibly open person, not the type to hold secret meetings in the dead of night. But then again, how frenzied had he become over his message? Maybe enough to only want to keep things within their group for now, whatever it was he wanted to discuss. Fourth thought: she hoped no-one else saw her enter his room. Suspicions were high enough as it was.

* * *

It took her a while to make her way over, peaking around corners and limping with each step. She'd sleep in once this was done, do her best to accelerate the healing process so that she didn't bother the others by having to lean on them to walk anymore. As promised, Makoto's door was unlocked, and she made her way in after one last paranoid look around. Which wouldn't help the idea that she was a spy of some kind, but it put her at ease if nothing else. What didn't put her at ease was Makoto's absence. She checked the note again. Definitely his room, there was the sword that Sayaka had them run around after for his protection. Worthless thing wasn't even sharp. Panic blossomed in her chest, but before she could worry further a manic cry came charging at her, armed with a knife.

Time began to slow as everything sunk in at once. The girly handwriting and the odd message, Sayaka's flight from the A/V room and her monopolising of Makoto for the rest of the day. Her general interest in the most defenceless student. The Ultimate Pop Sensation, running at her. She'd high-jacked Makoto's room somehow, or worse…

The despair held her for a second, replaced with a new kind of burning inside her. As Sayaka lunged at her, she was coming at a crawl, and Mukuro knew exactly what to do, and knew in that moment that she and the girl in the video were one and the same.

Step one: grab the wrist, push upwards to create space. Step two: kick attacker firmly in the groin. Step three: push in, break wrist. Her body moved automatically, all burns, scars and pains forgotten as Sayaka screamed, the knife flying across the room to embed itself in the wall from the sheer force of anger behind the disarming. She went to run to the bathroom but Mukuro was ready, grabbing her flailing arm, planting a foot into the back of her knee and driving her to the ground, the already broken arm pinned between the girls, one crying, the other steaming.

"Where is… he?"

Sayaka kept crying. Mukuro twisted the arm.

"Makoto. Where. Is. He?"

"In my room, he's in my room! Please don't kill me!"

Mukuro pulled the idol up, keeping her arm between them both to have her lead and hold her in place should she try to run. She withdrew the knife with her free hand, keeping it loose beside her.

"Lead on."

Her raspy voice must have as that of Cerberus to Sayaka, doing her best to get next door as quickly as she could while keeping the rest of her arm intact. If not for the soundproofing in each room, the whole academy would have been awoken by her tear-stained begging as she pounded on the door with her remaining good hand. It took ten heart-stopping minutes before it opened, a sleepy yet terrified Makoto opening up to the mess. Before he could misinterpret the situation, Mukuro threw Sayaka to the ground and the knife down the hall, where it would lodge into Sakura's door and be named Excalibur by Hifumi for its refusal to be removed. Not that anyone present cared about that, as Mukuro threw herself into Makoto, pulling him into a tremendous hug.

"Mukuro? Sayaka? What's going on?"

"Explain later, hold forever… now."

* * *

"You know; I'm really disappointed in you all. That was the worst attempted murder I've ever seen, and you Mukuro, didn't even have the decency to get stabbed even a little. What's one more scar on your ugly body, huh? Well, I'm sure you've all got a lot of finger-pointing and sabre-rattling to get to, so I'll leave you to get all _Lord of the Flies_ up in here. Toodles!"

"I hate that bear."

The morning had been eventful for the students not involved in the midnight attack, having awoken to two open doors, one with Mukuro sitting at the foot of Makoto's bed like a gargoyle, and the other with a whimpering Sayaka in a makeshift armbrace. And while no murder had occurred, Sayaka's attempt had been enough to splinter what little camaraderie had existed. There were only five at breakfast after Monokuma's assembly to 'explain' the events, and most of them refused to look at Mukuro at all, let alone speak. Finally, Makoto broke the silence.

"I think my family's been killed."

The shocked expressions were all he needed to go on.

"In my video, they were seating in the living room, on our old sofa. They were congratulating me on entering Hope's Peak. And then they were gone, and the room was wrecked, and Monokuma was taunting me to kill someone and escape."

He took a breath, drew in a mouthful of tea and continued.

"And if that's what I saw, then I don't need to make much of a jump to what was on everyone else's disk as well."

"It doesn't… excuse her."

"I know, but it makes it understandable, and that's what we need to right now. To understand one another, so we'll know how we might react when Monokuma tries to bait us again. Sorry Mukuro, but I'm going to try and talk to Sayaka again. Even if she was using me, I won't accept it until I hear directly from her."

"Call me… if she… attacks again."

"Don't worry, there'll be no need for that. I'll see you all in a bit, okay?"

With the speechmaker gone, the room returned to awkward silence.

"Mukuro, where did you learn Krav Maga?"

Mukuro blinked in surprise, not expecting to be addressed, and not by Sakura at that.

"I don't know. My video… showed a soldier… being tortured, and… I think… it was me. Before… I forgot."

"Wait, so you didn't have your family threatened?"

Aoi this time, inspired by her larger friend in spite of her fear.

"No. Monokuma's holding my memories hostage in place."

"Man, that's just as bad! My brother's a dork, but at least I can remember his dumb face. He must really hate you."

The end of the table shook with a bang, Kiyotaka rigid on his feet.

"That's it! I know how we can create the harmonious atmosphere that we've been missing!"

"What, by watching everyone's families get threatened? That's probably going to do the opposite. No offence Mukuro."

"None… taken."

"Ah, but don't you see? We can see Makoto's family, and your brother and Mukuro's… well, we'll take a vote on the torture if it's all the same to you, and in doing so we'll know who's waiting for us outside, and that will create understanding!"

"That sounds like a great idea."

Heads turned back to Makoto, smiling sadly. Things with Sayaka had clearly gone poorly.

"We've all got our disks, right? Let's gather up the others in the A/V room and watch together."

With a unified nod, the group rose and began to scatter, with the exception of Makoto, holding out a hand for Mukuro, which she gently turned away, rising on her own shaky legs.

"I'm going… to do my best… not to bother you."

"If you'll feeling up to it. Call me if you fall over, okay?"

"Don't… worry. There'll be… no need."

She found herself outside Sayaka's room again, waiting until the others had spread about like dandelion seeds before she made her move. She knocked once, and slipped a note under the door.

* * *

That they'd managed to get everybody but Byakuya, Toko, Kyoko, Celeste and Sayaka was an act of hope so strong it should have been classified as a miracle, one Mukuro attributed to Makoto's smile and Kiyotaka's sheer pig-headedness. They started on Makoto's and were halfway done when a piece of paper fell into her lap.

"That was in poor taste." Sayaka complained, still watery-eyed as she took a seat besides as Chihiro's father cheered her on, the tiny girl breaking out into tears and receiving no less than four handkerchiefs from the boys.

"Fair's… fair."

The note had contained two items: an apology and forgiveness. Not that Mukuro felt either very strongly, but she recognised her place in the morning's unpleasant atmosphere. Besides, it was what Makoto would have done. Sakaya offered her disk next, and by the time the idol group had vanished off the screen the looks of pity outweighed the few of worry at a repeat performance. That, and the general consensus that having Mukuro as your enemy was punishment enough. Finally, it came to Mukuro's disk, and by the end of that a quiet anger had settled, turning Mukuro's stomach at the idea that the plan could have backfired, making her the villain of the piece. She reached out and squeezed Makoto's hand as, unsurprisingly, Mondo gave the anger a voice.

"Oi, Mukuro. When we get around to taking this bastard down, you get first swing."

* * *

High above, Junko Enoshima snorted.

"Yeah, because that worked out so well for you last time."

 _"_ _I'll take away even more of your memories like I did that to that irritating detective girl. You'll just be a poor little girl with no memory at all. After everyone reintroduces themselves, they'll walk around the school grounds and eventually find a flat-chested girl with amnesia, covered in bandages with a Fenrir tattoo on her right hand." – Monokuma, Danganronpa IF_

Omake

The second trial was upon them and with it a new temptation. Unlike the others, Mukuro held the envelope containing her greatest secret with some hope. Having a secret at all was a clue to who she was before after all. And so, she unfolded it, biting her tongue to prevent an outburst like Toko's squawk. Makoto leaned in as she read it.

"He knows about my late bedwetting. What's yours?"

"Mukuro Ikusaba… has amnesia."

"These are the worst secrets ever."


	4. Bullets and Butterfly Wings

AN: This jumped into my head while I was working on the actual new chapter, and was done in like 15 minutes. It's supposed to be realistic. It's not terribly realistic. Enjoy I guess.

* * *

Possibilities

What IF 4: Bullets and Butterfly Wings 

She is lost at ten.

She's enlisted at eleven and kills a man a month later, the first of many.

She's seen more countries at twelve then most do by fifty, and lost count of the dead.

She dies at thirteen and is reborn the same day.

She's attacked at fourteen, not as a soldier but as a woman. Her purity is saved, her attacker isn't.

The pack is slain at fifteen, and she is left to roam alone.

She's enlisted again at sixteen, this time as a student and as a sister.

She doesn't know which is worse: the battlefield, or the world that is protected from it. Her classmates are children, a privilege long forgotten by her. They shy away from her ice, afraid of the wolf in their midst.

A shove, a bump. An attack. He goes through her desk, her sister's voice all that saves his life.

He comes back the next day, waits for her before class to apologise. She nods and walks away.

He talks to her the next morning, and the next, and the next, and the next. His smile is sweet and innocent.

He tries to show her what she's been fighting over, and she refuses. There's too many people, too much noise, too much chaos. She could be attacked at any time, from any angle.

He understands, and they play cards with the pale girl and her servant. Her tell is a glancing at him whenever she has a bad hand, or so says the gambler.

She dislikes sports the most, as she's expected to run with no objective. But she is fast, and both teams want her for that ability if nothing else.

She runs and passes, runs and shoots. Runs, and a helicopter comes overhead. And she's running again, through towns and jungle and desert, watching hands that are not her own leave dead men behind her.

They don't know where she was hiding the pistol, but they drop to the ground as she fires upon the sky in terror.

They take away her guns. She's okay with that.

He doesn't want to know what happened, but he wants her to talk to someone, and hands her a card. Another soldier in her position, who can help where he can't.

She visits, sits down to compare and confirm. For once, the outside world reflects her own.

She returns to class so she can apologise. But they have left her behind now, all but him.

She struggles with Japanese, and he offers to teach. Her heart kicks in a strange way when he leans over to show her the process of an answer.

Her sister laughs at her when she worries but her health, tells her to stick with him. Claims the cure for PTSD is a dose of vitamin D. She is unimpressed by Wikipedia's view on the subject, and refuses to explain the joke. The doctor shares a similar, less crude view, and offers to have him sit in with them. She refuses. She wants to keep him away from her world.

Her heart acts up again when he talks to the singer, twisting more painfully this time. The feeling hardens when he invites her to some social event, a quiet affair. He's naïve. There is no quiet in the class or even the school, and she knows where she's not wanted. They pretend to ignore the sighs of relief.

She's kept awake that night not by phantom gunfire but by ghosts dancing in her room, the sweet siren crooning him into a deathly embrace. She blames the couple she saw in her sister's movie, the actor that looked just like him.

She stays away from him, even as it burns deeply. It's for the best. They should be separate. She can't live in his world, and she doesn't want him near hers. She lasts four days before a trap set by her sister leaves them locked together. Even with the windows open, she can't breathe. He's too close, and her heart hurts, and when he tries to call the doctor he's away. Wherever she looks, her attacker follows, slipping into view even though he's been dead for years.

She tries to jump out the window only for him to wrap his arms around her, and is put through another table for his troubles.

Her stone mask breaks, and demands to know why.

Why he puts up with her. Why he can't turn away like everyone else. Why he's resurrected humanity she discarded so long ago. By the time her doctor calls back Ikusaba has died and Mukuro is in the classroom, still lost, still scared and still crying, clinging to her supporting pillar as though the past three years never happened.

Her sister unlocks the door, unsure whether to be pleased or not. They walk to the office, and with the dam broken she confesses to both of them, bares the blackened pit of her soul. She expects them to leave without her. Her sister opens her arms for a hug instead, allowing her to make first contact so the memories don't attack. He doesn't expect anything from her, but receives a hug regardless.

They walk home together, and his hand is wonderfully warm in her own.


	5. Watchdog Mukuro

Possibilities

What IF 5: Watchdog Mukuro

3am report: nothing to report. No additional murders, all students sleeping, sans the gothic Lolita wandering the halls, trying to find an exit to hell. Mukuro stretched out to clear out the kink in her shoulders and went straight back to watching the last inhabitants of Hope's Peak. It was a lousy, boring job, but she had to do something to make herself useful. 'Junko Enoshima' had officially been retired from the game via trapdoor, as per the real Junko's plan to allow Mukuro to operate as a disruptive element under her command, a job which so far had consisted of moving Yasuhiro's various knick-knacks about his room to freak him out. That, and watch over the night so that her sister could get her beauty sleep. Leon had been executed for Sayaka's murder, but just rewatching the recordings wasn't enough for Junko, who needed a live feed of despair pumped straight into her veins, the raw reactions of betrayal. As such, Mukuro was posted to watch over the school, ready to wake her when problems arose. She didn't mind too much, as years of army life had rendered her with the need for only four hours of sleep a night, and there were only so many times she could clean weapons that couldn't be used in the game to begin with. But in a way, it felt like the duty was supposed to be a punishment, a nightly reminder of her betrayal against her former classmates and the world. Watching them tear each other apart and her powerless to stop them, not that she would, as that would ruin the point of everything. Well, maybe if Makoto was attacked she'd intervene. While Junko was asleep of course.

Not that any murder attempts were happening tonight. Celeste put herself to bed, and the rest were sleeping in various states of discomfort, each dealing with the first trial in their own way. Byakuya, for example, had lain down and not so much at twitched since. Chihiro had cried himself to sleep. Makoto had yet to settle down. The night had been filled with nothing but the day's events for him, leaving the supposedly lucky student tossing and turning with small moans, and the occasional whispered name. She should have just ignored it, but every so often she would catch him out the corner of her eye, and old instincts would bring her back to his room. It produced an ache in her chest that refused to shift, one that stuck around for no reason. She'd already betrayed him in the worst possible way. The world had ended, his memories stolen and his friends locked into a game of death, all of which she was party to. After all that, what was a simple nightmare by comparison?

She sighed, switched channels to the main hall for some quiet and took a drink of water. When the feeling failed to leave she went to get up and pace, but paused, remembering her sleeping sister. How Junko had managed to squeeze a four-poster bed into their 'headquarters' each night without her noticing was a mystery, but its inclusion meant that the mastermind could sleep soundly and dream of greater despair, which was more important then the fact that it blocked off so much of the room, including Mukuro's access to facilities. But that was no matter. It just made every night a stakeout, shades of her sniper training. With pacing out of the question, Mukuro elected to spin around in her chair instead, which gave the same effect. A nice distraction from Makoto's troubles, a distraction from her lifestyle. That was, until she caught him sitting bolt upright, and she couldn't flick the camera feed over quickly enough. He lay down again and was soon back to his patchy rest, but the damage was done, and now she couldn't turn away, the terrible little spark he'd ignited in her all those years ago was burning now, demanding she do something-anything to protect him. It was stupid, it was unworthy and it could ruin everything. The plan, the element of surprise and the smidgen of pride that Junko possibly had in her. But it was there regardless, calling out an order. And if there was one thing Mukuro knew, it was following orders. But where to go from here?

As a soldier, she was no stranger to PTSD, although she was no sufferer herself. She'd seen a man in Fenrir left out under the desert sun after he'd simply shut down at the loss of his brother, and many others with eyes that could only see the battlefield, and a thousand miles past it. But there had never been a therapist of such men, and so Mukuro had no starting point by which to help Makoto, let alone one that could be implemented from three floors up. Waking him up was out of the equation, as he'd slept little enough as it was, and he might remember who exactly who had woken him up in the first place. Mukuro closed her eyes to focus, falling into her world of ice with each slowed breath as her soldier's mind turned the problem over. First, what helped her to sleep? Answer, nothing in particular, as she just closed her eyes when needed and woke up four hours later ready for the battlefield. Thumbing back through her past shone no further illumination on the question, other than a few nights huddled against Junko for warmth. Physical contact was impossible however, as she had no way of leaving the room with the four-poster bed in the way. And even more impossible as the very idea of slipping into his bed set her heart racing so fast that she was worried she'd suffer a heart attack and die with bright red cheeks. Sending in Monokuma to perform the same task was also an option, but if Makoto fully woke up questions would be asked, and Mukuro was terrible enough at lying without having to impersonate one of her sister's personalities on top of it. She would have continued musing, but her concentration was broken as Makoto's voice floated up to her, calling Sayaka's name. Just like tracing the correct path to an enemy bunker, the plan came to her, and she set about it with the same grim determination.

Even missing three years of memories, even after the day's events, Makoto missed Sayaka. Hope's Peak's digital archives housed the entirety of her published works, and Mukuro was in charge of the sum total of knowledge on all talents. Opening a channel to the screen in his room, she uploaded the debut album and set it to play each song automatically on a low volume, just in case a sudden jump in pitch awoke him. It wasn't an instant knock-out, but by the time the group was on the third song, _"_ _Shine On, Shooting Star"_ , Makoto had stopped moving about. As the first album moved into the second he was out for the count, resting peacefully with a smile on his face. It settled her as well, and she relaxed into the warm leather, trying to enjoy the bittersweet victory. After all, it wasn't her singing that had helped him, but that of a dead girl. Her own singing would have just added to the list of the dead, regardless if she was any good at it or not. Not that it mattered either way. She didn't deserve him to start with, and by the end of this he was going to be joining Sayaka in the freezers. 5 am. Junko would need awakening in an hour, but for now Mukuro would keep watch over the night as always. It was all she was good for currently, as a soldier without a war. As a traitor to the world but the beloved of her sister. Just another set of eyes watching despair, as helpless as the outside world to interfere.

* * *

She was dragged into the waking world in a wave of oily stink, leaving her sputtering as she went for her trusted knife, unshealthed and aimed in counter-attack. But instead of Future Foundation she found Junko, swinging a bucket on one finger.

"Oh good, you're awake. Now get up and make yourself presentable for God's sake, you've got an interview in five minutes. If you don't attend, you'll end up like Celeste two trials from now."

And with that she pulled out a box of matches, rammed bunches between her fingers and struck them alight, throwing them into the air. As Mukuro slashed the lot to pieces, she became very aware that she was doused in patrol. Oh, the ways Junko played with her.

Her sister's comments about her body odour aside, Mukuro was quite adept at washing down in a hurry, a quick sink scrub-down enough to make sure she wasn't flammable anymore, and what little patrol stink that remained was drowned out by a bottle of perfume from Junko's discarded collection. Exactly five minutes after waking and Mukuro arrived in the Headmaster's office to find Junko at Jin Kirigiri's desk, dressed in pinstripe and flanked by matching Monokumas.

"Thank you for coming in Ms Ikusaba. Can't say a flak jacket is the most suitable attire for an interview, but I can't expect much of a war brat can I? Well, better than nothing I suppose. Don't sit down, these are the only good chairs left and I've already got to deal with your smell on the one in my headquarters."

"Sorry Jun- Ms Enoshima."

"Well, whatever. Your terrible dress sense aside, I've brought you here for a very special reason."

She pulled a remote from her chest, the Monokumas pulling down a projector screen behind her to show their former classmates looking terribly worse for wear as they explored the second floor, as was Junko's gift for passing a trial. Each one couldn't stop looking all about them nervously, twitching whenever they came to a corner as if expecting a killer to jump out from around it as they passed. Yasohiro had yet to leave his bedroom, furiously praying to something with five layers of beads on his arms and burning through enough incense that it was a miracle his room hadn't followed. Even Byakuya was on edge, snapping at anyone who came close to the library when he was flinching at its creaking shelves. Only Makoto and Kyoko were unaffected, going about the hunt with optimism and stoicism respectively.

"As you might have noticed, everyone's a bit on edge, even Edgy McPlaythegame and Lady Liesabunch. There's bloodshot eyes looking out for surprise attacks and a generally despairing tinge in the air. Now, why is that exactly? I mean, you didn't report anything out of the ordinary last night. I'd almost be miffed at having to through the footage myself if it wasn't for the surprise you left me on the rug, you bad little bitch."

She clicked the remote and Mukuro's blood ran cold as the screen cut into fifteen separate sections, showing the now frantic students sleeping peacefully. The footage from last night, with Sayaka Maizono's voice turning their dreams into nightmares. Some bolted upright in bed, some took Makoto's restlessness onto themselves, but all but two were disturbed in some way or another. Mukuro swallowed heavily, the only fear she knew. Junko's displeasure at her interference in the game could lead anywhere, and certainly nowhere good. So it was to her great surprise when Junko stood up and clapped slowly, the Monokumas joining her in short order.

"I absolutely can't believe that I'm about to say this, but I am super impressed in you Mukuro. It only took sixteen years, but you finally did something of your own volition instead of licking my heels all day! And boy did you knock it out of the park on the very first try!"

How could she have possibly have forgotten to check that she was only piping music through to one room instead of all of them? Now she was going to… wait. What?

"Come on, seriously? Isn't this what you've been waiting for your whole life? The only thing that helps you sleep at night other than fingering it to Makoto? I thought you'd be pulling out guns and firing randomly into the ceiling in happiness! Ooh unless you're trying to bring me despair by not caring anymore on top of the despair you brought the others by fuelling some dumb ghost idea into their heads? Well I'll show you! I'm going to get fired up and really give them hell today. If they want ghosts, I'm going to go full horror and send them running to their rooms!"

The fire in her eyes winked out as quickly as it had started.

"Okay, yeah, we're done here. Go back to stalking Makoto or whatever it is you think I don't know about while I have some fun."

And with that she flounced out the room, leaving Mukuro alone in the Headmaster's office, listening as a song about monsters mashing started blearing at full volume and Monokumas covered in bedsheets flooded the halls. No longer involved but uttering a small apology to the students for the new attack on their daily lives, Mukuro went to wash up properly, as Junko's perfume did little to cover Junko's petrol. She was five steps towards the bathroom before her legs gave out under her, all the blood in her body rushing to get to her face.

"Junko… actually praised me!"

It was just as well she took the nightshift, as there was no way she'd be sleeping tonight.


	6. Gunslinger Girls

Possibilities

What IF 6: Gunslinger Girls

To say that Komaru Naegi was having a bad day was an understatement. When one looks back to perpetual imprisonment, it's not normally with rose coloured lenses in place. But as she cowered under a parachute, begging for anyone to save her from the mechanical beasts that had taken over the city where she had been unknowingly trapped, all she wished for was to return to her mind-numbingly dull life. But her prayers were answered not by gods, but by two snap cracks and the smell of spent fireworks, monochrome bears falling back with shattered eyes before she could uncover herself to see what was going on. An older girl stood in their place, inspecting every inch of the rooftop to see if reinforcements were coming. Satisfied that the area was clear, she turned to Komaru, allowing her to assess her saviour in full.

Like the men who had sacrificed themselves to save her back in the apartment block, the soldier was dressed sharply in black trousers and a white shirt with tie, albeit with a flak jacket over the top to store the array of weapons on her person, two pistols on her hips, a knife on her breast and a rifle across her back. Her serious face was capped with a red beret, fixed in stone as she withdrew a piece of paper from a pocket, inspected it, looked at Komaru and nodded.

"Komaru Naegi? I'm Mukuro Ikusaba. I'm here to save you. Head down."

With that, she drew her pistols and began firing again, turning in place to shut down a new pack of Monokumas that were creeping over the chain-link fences. She never moved from her spot and had no need to, every shot a perfect mark that punched through the glassy left eyes of the robots, not one making it over the top before exploding.

"As I was saying." Mukuro continued, reloading with all the concern of performing routine maintenance instead of standing in the middle of a warzone. "I'm with the Future Foundation, working under your brother."

"Makoto's alive?"

"Very much so. We recently escaped imprisonment from Hope's Peak Academy, joined up with Future Foundation, and set off here to retrieve you and the other hostages that were to be used against us as part of a death game. Unfortunately, I've been separated from the majority of our forces, which could be… problematic at some point."

She finished her preparations and indicated to the stairs.

"I'll explain more as we go. After a year and a half, I imagine there's quite a bit you need to catch up on."

"Actually, I was mostly caught up by the men that found me. Right before my helicopter was hijacked, and they all… died."

Mukuro sighed as they descended.

"I told them a wide-scale operation was only going to bring trouble. Too much attention, too many moving parts."

She didn't look at Komaru, but stilled for a moment, looking uneasy.

"My apologises that you had to be exposed to this situation."

"Oh, no, it's fine. I mean, it's not like it's your fault, is it?"

Mukuro stopped short, holding one hand up. Not expecting the sudden stop, Komaru fell back over herself onto the stairs.

"Wait here."

Mukuro turned the corner and three sharp cracks sounded. When Komaru got herself together, rubbed the sore spot on her backside and peeked around the edge of the stairwell, the solider had put her gun away and had instead drawn a knife, her free hand flicking fingers inward at the last of four Monokumas, the universal gesture of 'bring it on'. Before Komaru could warn her about the beast's claws, it was already falling to pieces, oil and sparks shooting out from dozens of puncture wounds. It was a surprise that she'd resorted to close combat, given how easily she'd dispatched of the bears on the rooftop. Sliding the knife back into her flak jacket, she turned back, and if Komaru didn't know better she could have sworn there was a dark dissatisfaction bubbling under her perpetual stoicism.

"Come along. We have others to rescue."

In a mad city of apartment prisons, bloodthirsty children and their relentless machines, it took a lot for Mukuro Ikusaba to be the scariest thing out of all of them. Yet Komaru fell back into line behind her, for where else was she to go?

* * *

The operation was going abysmally. When Mukuro had bargained for her life before the Future Foundation's zealous leader by trading information about the captured loved ones and the potential attack brewing at the heart of Towa City, she'd been expecting to go in alone, a disposable asset that could be denied if the Towa authorities had caught her, with the hostages able to leave as they pleased after an interrogation. Instead, the Future Foundation had lain siege to the city under flimsy pretences, and the attention they'd gathered had likely spurred Junko to push the Warriors of Hope into action, putting not only their forces and many innocents in unnecessary danger but the hostages in far greater peril than if she had gone alone. Small wonder the Ultimate Despairs were able to maintain the Crisis, if this was the best strategizing Kyosuke Munakata could come up with. The bright side of the situation was that communications were down, and with them the shock anklet that had been attached to her to keep her in line, so she wasn't going to be electrocuted by some hope-mad operator who thought she might be stepping out of line. But it was a small consolidation in the light of her complete failure to connect with Komaru. She'd been unable to shift out of soldier mode since the city had turned into a warzone, leading her to keep her words chipped and cold to be as direct as possible. Any small talk between the two was poor even by Mukuro's low standards, and that was without spooking the poor girl every few seconds by dispatching Monokuma squads without breaking pace.

"Mukuro?"

Mukuro knew very little in the art of romance, but based on several attempts made by Leon during their time at Hope's Peak, it seemed that impressing yourself upon a family member of your target could lead to gaining stature in their eyes, leading them to speak well of you in kind. Not that such a method had done wonders for Leon, as Mukuro had shut him down by informing him that he wasn't Junko's type, and even if he was she'd been involved with a suitor for quite some time. Well, before she murdered him.

"Mukuro?"

Was it naïve to assume that simply by creating a good impression on his sister, that Makoto might go some way to forgiving her many digressions as a member of Ultimate Despair? He'd shown some concern before she left, but he would have done the same to any of the members of their class. Frankly, she had no idea what their relationship was currently, and no way to gauge it. The other students weren't likely to be any help in that regard either, as she'd never been good enough friends with them in the first place and once they recovered their memories they'd probably be out for her blood as well.

"Mu…Ku…Ro."

Mukuro stopped just short of the port they'd been aiming for, hoping to send a signal to the mainland or find some Future Foundation stragglers to evacuate with. The hotel had been bereft of any hostages, but they had found a clue as to the location of Kiyotaka's father. Turning back to inform Komaru of their progress (making eye contact would probably be a good start instead of barking orders over her shoulder), she found the girl lying face down on the pavement, puffing and panting, clearly out of breath.

"Wait… just a second… oh god."

One shattered vending machine later, and they were sat on the hotel's stairs with cold refreshments. Operation Eye Contact was out the window, as Mukuro kept her head bowed in apology.

"I'm so sorry about that. I'm not used to accompanying civilians."

"It's alright, honestly! I've always walked kinda slow anyway. Also, it's comforting, in a weird way."

"I'm… afraid I don't follow."

Komaru downed her can in one gulp, leaving it on the side of the steps. The sugar rush seemed to have invigorated her more than the brief break, as she got back to her feet and started stretching.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you've been really intimidating so far. I mean, it's really cool how you go through Monokumas like they aren't even there, but you don't talk much, and you're pretty cold when you do, and…"

She turned back, smiling.

"I guess it's just nice to see you mess something up today. Makes you more human, you know?"

Head still hanging low, Mukuro laughed once, sharp and bitter. It had been a good while since anyone had noted her humanity, and that it had come up in her current mission was terribly ironic. But if nothing else, life had thrown her a multitude of second, third and fourth chances that she didn't deserve. Might as well try again with this one. She met Komaru's eye for the first time since they'd met as she stood up.

"You and your brother; you're both far too understanding for your own good."

"Huh? Oh no, I'm nothing like Makoto. He's amazing, and I'm just… me."

Well, there was a familiar sight, seeing a sister put themselves down to elevate their sibling. It was not a tragedy Mukuro would allow twice.

"Maybe, but just you managed to survive until I found you. That in and of itself is impressive enough."

"Th-that wasn't me, it was all this gun! And it's not even mine, it was just given to me! In fact, you should have it really, I'm sure it'll be much more useful to you and-"

"No. I cannot in good consciousness allow you to disarm. If we got separated you would be unable to defend yourself."

"B-B-But I don't even know how to shoot right!"

"Well, as we're on a break…"

Mukuro trailed off, looking to a pack of Monokumas between them and the bridge to the mainland, all conveniently stood in front of one of Towa's self-driving cars.

"How about some target practice?"

Mukuro Ikusaba wasn't a social butterfly, or even a social caterpillar. But if there was any way she was going to be able to bond with someone, it was going to be on the battlefield. No matter how long it took to get Komaru to stop screwing up her eyes when she fired blindly at a stationary target.

* * *

"Well, well, well, if it isn't treacherous Big Sis Mukuro and some filthy demons."

"Masaru, do you even know what 'treacherous' means?"

"Wait, you know him?"

Mukuro shifted at Yuta Asahina's question, not looking at all pleased with the situation unfolding. And given that the last situation they were in involved exploding bridges and potentially exploding bracelets, it said a lot. This was a personal matter.

"I'll explain later."

"You mean you'll explain never." Masaru boasted, holding some sort of controller aloft. Mukuro cocked a pistol at him, only for her shot to go wide as Komaru grabbed her arm and pulled it down.

"Are you crazy? You can't shoot a child!"

"I wasn't going to hit him, I was aiming for…"

The squabble was cut off as a giant robot crashed down into the caged arena, drill-arms spinning maliciously. Mukuro switched targets, but her shots pinged off, inflicting no damage whatsoever.

"Okay, new plan. Yuta, you and I are on distraction duty. It's short-ranged but watch out for potential charge attacks. Komaru, aim at that Monokuma face on its chest. That's the weak point, and your Hacking Gun will be far more effective than my pistols."

"Wait, how do you know that'll be a weak point?"

"Because there's no despair to be had in a weapon that can't lose."

Before she could elaborate further, she shoved Komaru back, away from the path of an oncoming drill. The mecha was separating them, but the weak plate was right above her. Even after training Komaru wasn't a good shot by any metric, but even she couldn't miss at point-blank range, unleashing break-shot after break-shot into the black and white. The armoured head turned, but before it could strike again Yuta caught Masaru's attention by calling him a coward, and from there on out it was a case of watching and waiting until it was facing her again to take more pot shots, the face cracking to expose a glowing core. Only then did it click in the Warrior's head that he'd been focusing on the wrong target, but as his machine lowered its drills and charged, it found not the scared schoolgirl but Mukuro, locking in the ammo pack on her rifle.

Time froze, the pink core a tiny dot in a dark world of ice as the former Ultimate Solider did what she did best. Seconds later it was replaced with a pillar of flame, showering the crowd in sand from the shockwave. Not that a little debris was going to stop them from punishing failure. But as many hands reached out to drag him away, another burst of gunfire echoed over their helmets. The Monokids might have been spurred to murder but their survival instincts were still strong, and all of them hit the ground cowering as Mukuro leap over, snatched Masaru underarm and leapt back into the arena.

"Young man, you are in a lot of trouble."

And yet another survivor joined their crew.

* * *

"You've got to do something Big Sis! Mukuro and that other girl are ruining everything!"

"Kids, kids, kids. You don't understand. You like games, right? Well, the final boss can't just turn up in the middle of a spin-off! It'd kill all the dramatic tension, and that's without going into the deep personal storylines between me and her and Makoto and all the other ones whose names I forget, because honestly, who's expecting that baseball bitch to save the day at any point? Besides, this is your project. You can't just pass of my work as yours, no-one'll take you seriously ever again."

"But…"

"Okay, okay, you've convinced me. Damn kids and your puppy-dog eyes. I'll call up some friends and send them over. I promise, they'll be much better than Nagito. Let me see, who's available… ah screw it, I'll just send the rest of the 77th Class and we'll call it fanservice."

* * *

Omake

"Ah, I'm losing connection. Hold on you guys, we'll definitely save you!" Makoto swore as the little screen Mukuro had set up to contact the Future Foundation crackled out. Komaru was a whirlwind of emotions: ecstatic that her brother was still alive, the perpetual terror of her situation and the knowledge that both Ultimate Despair and the remaining Warriors of Hope were after them. But more than any of that, the inexorable urge to tease the cute little smile that had fixed itself upon Mukuro's face the second they'd made connect and refused to leave.

"You know Kuro, when you said you respected my brother, I didn't expect it to be on such a… personal level."

Mukuro's humanity poked through as a flush of red under her freckles.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh no, you can't hide this one from me. You like him, don't you?"

"I have only…"

-Mukuro's Fantasy-

 _She lies under sun-dappled trees, so warm and full from the picnic he made that she doesn't want to move for hours, but still finds room for the grapes they share mouth-to-mouth._

"The utmost respect…"

-Mukuro's Fantasy-

 _The ring is a plain, simple thing, because they've never had enough money. But's perfect for her, a plain and simple thing that doesn't deserve such happiness. She cries more in confirming their marriage than she ever has in her life._

"And admiration for Makoto…"

-Mukuro's Fantasy-

 _To have Junko as the Maid of Honour was her only request for the ceremony. Junko's request was that she turn up in chains. Nothing but chains, as it turns out. It's an unconventional look, but inviting the enemy of the world to a wedding is pretty unconventional as well, and since when have either of the sisters conformed to society?_

"And-and-and, besides, even if I did like him that way…"

-Mukuro's Fantasy-

 _Hot breaths, slow thrusts. Kisses on her freckles, teeth along his neck. She wasn't expecting him to be so bold, and does nothing to discourage him._

"He's too good for me, and, and, and…"

-Mukuro's Fantasy-

 _It's been so long since Despair ruled the world that even they only have fleeting memories of those times, pushed back by having to run after a pair of twins that take more after their aunts than they do their parents. She kisses his cheek as he leaves for work, and waves goodbye to him three times, once for every time he turns back to smile at her._

 _The world is calm and peaceful, and everything is perfect._

"And I, err… ah…."

"Wow."

Komaru had only expected a mild protest, not a complete meltdown of gooey teenage crushing. Mukuro's blush is so strong she can see it in the dark, so it's a good thing that she has her back to the door, so that when Kenshiro comes to warn them about the oncoming Monokuma horde, Mukuro can salvage a little piece of her dignity by barking orders over her shoulder. As they take the stairs two by two to join their companions, she cuts the poor girl a break by squeezing her hand and promising to do her best to pair her brother and her new best friend up.


End file.
